The Peculiar Case of Changing the World
by Anti-Mattering
Summary: Ariel Holiday takes possession of a peculiar notebook unaware of how fundamentally this will change her life. Can she face the consequences of the path she begins to walk?
1. Genesis

_Ariel finds a peculiar notebook outside of work. Her life is changed forever._

[This chapter portrays a scene of sexual assault. Proceed with caution if this may upset you.]

* * *

Life was hard. Everyone had heard and most had said these words at one point or another, though it could be argued that few truly understood their meaning. Hardship wasn't merely oversleeping and being late for work or the untimely passing of a pet, but sustained, core-deep suffering on a constant level.

When thought of like this, most would agree that they do not know true hardship. If pressed on who had, they'd likely point to people under the thumb of dictatorships or victims of war or famine. Some, however, may look closer to home, those living in poverty or battling serious illness or any of the other maladies brought about by society and exacerbated by its absolute disregard for the inherent value of human life.

This was the sort of situation that Ariel Holiday found herself in for most of her life, the last three years being particularly troublesome. She'd grown up with a particularly judgmental and particularly religious single mother, constantly berating her for the way she looked or acted or loved or anything else she knew might hurt her and force her to conform to a standard of morality even she couldn't reach, usually compounded with threats of burning in Hell if she didn't reform quickly.

As an adult, it wasn't hard to see that much of this stemmed from her own self-hatred and guilt over the circumstances of Ariel's unwanted birth, but rationalization like that did little to change the reality of the situation. This was only compounded by all the other usual problems of growing up as a woman in a major city like New York, especially when poor and non-white.

But she endured through it all, working as hard as she could to meet those impossible standards despite the toll it took on her body and her health, the relationships it ruined, and the resentment it allowed to fester inside her. She'd even managed to find her way into a good college to pursue her dream of being a teacher (something her mother criticized for not having a higher salary, naturally), managing to pay her way through two years by working just as many jobs.

True hardship struck soon after that, though, when her mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. Given their lack of insurance, doctors detected the disease quite late through a particularly bad case of prolonged pneumonia. Hospitalization followed, the cost of the stay and the new cocktail of medication required to keep her alive immediately wiping out whatever paltry savings either of them managed to collect.

The first thing to go, of course, was education. Ariel dropped out like a good daughter should, working both her jobs and caring for her mother now that she was too sick to work herself, all the while facing whatever new insults and scorn she'd throw her way. If she was a more foolish person, she'd blame it on the disease or the side effects of the drugs, but she was more than acclimated to this behavior by now. It was her version of normal.

It quickly became clear that two jobs even with the extra shifts she got from her grabby boss at the diner or all the time she put in working as a janitor for a health club wouldn't cover the growing medical expenses. She tried to augment this with any number of odd jobs, online work, and general assistance she could find, but things fell through eventually in all cases. The end result was that there didn't seem to be a way out, the hole growing deeper and deeper with each passing day and new past due bill that showed up in the mailbox.

As Ariel began another day of this drudgery and misery, she didn't much expect anything to come of it. She was nearing the end of her shift at Mac's Diner (who Mac was supposed to be was always a mystery) and busing a table, once again thinking how much she hated the bright pink retro uniforms waitresses were forced to wear while working for how ridiculous it looked on someone of her size. Even putting that aside, it was absolutely not her style and clashed quite obviously with her dark pixie cut, making her feel even more out of place whenever she was here. It was demeaning to say the least, even more so when she realized it doubled as an excuse for the boss and his constant parade of friends who ate and drank for free up at the counter all day long to sneak a peak up her skirt whenever she had to bend over for something.

Occupied by these thoughts, she almost didn't notice what happened just outside the window. Absentmindedly staring into the distance while letting her anger run its course inside her head, something dark dropped into view from somewhere high above. Where, she couldn't determine, especially since there weren't any tall buildings directly in front of the diner. The only logical conclusion would be for someone to have tossed it off the roof, but who would do that and why?

"You going to daydream for the rest of your shift or are you going to work?" came the gruff voice of her boss from behind her, arms folded over his greasy chest as he glared down at her. Apparently, he'd seen her not being productive for every single second she was on his property and decided that that just couldn't stand. He might have to wait a few months to buy another gold chain with all the money he'd lose from that negligence.

Immediately, Ariel snapped to attention, grabbing the last couple napkins and a fork she hadn't yet taken and walking quickly towards the kitchen. Her boss nodded, giving her an "encouraging" slap on the ass as she did to the hooting and hollering of his friends. She always hated them, in particular, for the way they egged him on. It was even worse than her boss harassing her in a way given how they worked as a team.

While the five of them generally blended together in her mind, one of them was of particular disgust to her. Some tall, schlubby white guy named Theodore Wilson, breath always smelling of the cheap sausage patties they served here and blond hair shimmering from all the hair grease he combed into it, though the most defining feature of his was definitely the unexplained series of crisscrossing scars along his lips. For whatever reason, he seemed to be interested in her, always looking as if he was trying to find a chance to corner her and do who knows what to her.

Thinking on all this did her little good, though. It's not like she could do anything to change these people or the fact that they could do what they wanted inside these walls. She knew that if she complained there would be no one to back her up and she'd lose her job, but she also knew that everyone had a breaking point and hers was very close. Sometimes she wondered what might happen if she finally reached it.

The next half hour was spent in silent fury and embarrassment. Even so, she kept her head down and did her job until that final second thankfully ticked away and she was allowed to leave, Wilson eyeing her as usual from the bar the whole time and making some comment about how it was sad to see her go. In all that time, she nearly forgot about the thing that fell from the sky, remembering it only seconds after grabbing her things from the backroom and walking out the door.

While she figured it was little more than junk tossed out a car window, she decided to walk around to the front of the diner just to see if it was still there. Chances are it wasn't if it was anything of value, so she was essentially wasting time for nothing more than a piece of garbage. Still, it would give her something like peace of mind to know that for sure.

Given her previous expectations, it was almost shocking to see that this wasn't just some trash or another brick hurled by any of the disgruntled customers or ex-staff that occasionally came crashing through the window of the white building behind her. It was, of all things, a black notebook.

Taking it in her hand, Ariel turned it over to the front cover, finding the words "Death Note" spelled out in a white across the top. What was that supposed to mean? If someone was going to deface a notebook, you'd think they'd do a better job than that. The handwriting was pretty sloppy, though, so maybe it was some edgy middle schooler's idea of being cool.

That being said, why would toss it away like this? She looked around, confirming that, yes, there was nowhere tall enough or close enough for it to drop where it did. Thinking back, she couldn't for the life of her remember seeing a person nearby when it fell, either. Did someone flush it out of a plane, maybe? A newscaster lose grip of it when flying over inside a helicopter?

Either way, it was hers now. She was always happy to have a new notebook laying around, plus this one was free. Examining it and flipping through some pages, it seemed to be made of fairly sturdy materials, too. She especially liked how smooth the paper felt between her fingers.

The more she looked at it on her walk home, the stranger things became. She checked on her phone to do a cursory search of the words "Death Note" and to see if there were any black notebooks that looked like the one she'd found. As far as she could tell, no results popped up for anything even remotely resembling it, meaning that someone must have made it on their own. And yet, this didn't seem to be just a random composition book painted black, but an entirely new construction with pages sewn into real binding.

Whoever had made this also went to the trouble of spelling out a set of "rules" for how to use this supposed notebook of death. That anyone whose name got written into it would die, plus a few notes on how to be more specific with how you wanted that person killed. It was unsettling, frankly.

It didn't take her long to get home, the notebook she'd slipped into her forest green messenger bag still being the only thing on her mind. She couldn't figure out why it seemed to stick out to her so much, only that she felt compelled to keep it. Maybe she'd use it as a diary if she ever had the energy to write something like that.

Seconds after hanging her blue coat on the rack beside the door, the yelling started. "What took you so long?" her mother screeched from the living room, hacking up a lung from the exertion.

"I'm home the same time as always," she said, already feeling a headache coming on. All she wanted to do was get out of these clothes and sleep until her next shift, but that seemed unlikely to happen.

"You're two minutes late!" she hollered, coughing once more. One would think she'd have learned not to do that. "I'm starving! Hurry up and make me something to eat!"

With a sigh, Ariel stepped down the narrow hallway of the apartment leading to the kitchen, setting her bag down on the plastic faux-tiled floor and opening a small, gray refrigerator. There wasn't much in there at the moment, a fact her mother would likely be very upset about when she realized it, so food options were somewhat slim.

For the time being, she'd have to make do with just a turkey sandwich. Plating it and trimming the crusts, she walked into the other room and approached the tall, brown recliner positioned about three feet away from the small television screen blasting one of those reality TV programs featuring the fake doctors exploiting poor people for views. Making her presence known by clearing her throat, she handed the sandwich off to her mother.

Cold green eyes moved from the sandwich to Ariel, the skinny woman scowling a bit. "That outfit makes you look like a cow," she spat before taking a clearly unhappy bite of the sandwich. No appreciation for what was done for her, as usual. If called out about this, she'd simply scream about how she was dying and had no reason to be thankful for something so simple.

"You've told me before," she replied quietly, turning back around to collect her things from the kitchen. Most of her life had been made up of people telling her she was too fat or too dark or her hair was too short or her voice too scratchy, so it was safe to say she didn't need to be reminded of how bad she looked. She was perfectly able to do that herself whenever she walked by a mirror.

She had about two to three minutes before there was some new calamity her mother wanted her to tend to, so she had to work fast. Stripping off her horrid work uniform, she changed into a comfortable pair of black sweatpants and a baggy white t-shirt, flopping onto her sparse bed and pressing herself into it as much as she possibly could. Her soar back popped in a few places as she laid there, eyes resting and threatening to let her drift off to much-needed sleep.

"Ariel!" she heard from the other room, eyes forced open and body forced to sit up. Her name was screamed three more times as she trudged back into the living room. As soon as she made it there, she was given another demand. "Take this and get me a drink," her mother ordered, chair leaning backwards as the footstool kicked out.

"Do you want water?" she asked as she grabbed the plate from the arm of the chair.

"Tea," she barked. "And don't even think about putting ice in it this time. No one wants a bunch of watery tea. You should know better than that by now."

She complied as always, pouring a tall glass of iced tea from a pitcher in the fridge. Today she didn't want ice but it wouldn't be long before this position reversed, Ariel expected to know automatically or get yelled at for disobeying.

This same song and dance continued for the next two hours, Ariel being just about to relax before being called for some new thing that needed doing. Sometimes it was a refill on her drink, sometimes to grab her cane (she'd always toss it to the ground carelessly after getting back to her chair), sometimes just to make sure she'd come running whenever she called. In between all that she managed to do a load of laundry and pack herself a sandwich to eat for dinner.

By the time she had to leave, she'd utterly run out of time to investigate the notebook any further. She even forgot to take it out of her bag. It wasn't that big of a concern, though, since it didn't exactly stop her from getting to work on time or doing her job dutifully once there. Time almost flew by thanks to the fact no one really acknowledge her presence and there wasn't much for her to do on that particular night.

Then came the worst part of every day for her – navigating through the darkened streets to find her way home. The subway wasn't an option at this time of night, not that she'd want to risk getting stuck on a platform all alone even if it was. At least this way she stayed mobile while making the half mile trek back home.

Quiet times like this always forced her mind to start working. Shivering in the September chill, she thought back to how she'd normally be in school around this time. She wondered if she'd ever have the chance to go back there. If she didn't, what would become of the rest of her life? Was this all there was for her? Overworked, unhappy, and wasting all her potential for people who couldn't care less about what happened to her? When she laid it all out like that, she started to wonder why she even bothered with any of it.

Reality came back to her after that, though. She'd been lucky up to now in making it home safe each night, but luck eventually ran out. Around a block into her journey, she became keenly aware that she was being followed. She tried ignoring it at first, picking up the pace just a bit to try and lose the pursuers, but they were relentless. Not wanting to risk running given the fact she wasn't all that fast, she did her best to make as many detours as she could, hoping to head towards an open business she could hide inside.

There was a gas station just across the street from her. Heart racing, she broke into a run to try and make it there with room to spare. Unfortunately, she wasn't quick enough, getting grabbed from around a corner just as she took a step off the curb. Tossed backwards onto the sidewalk, the sound of several approaching footsteps filled her with panic.

She tried to scramble to her feet but was repeatedly thrown back to the ground, four other men catching up to her and grabbing her by the arms to drag her into an alleyway, mouth covered to muffle her screams.

As much as she fought, it was all a waste of effort. They were stronger than her and there was simply too many of them. One of them tore her bag away from her, digging through it and making sure to toss her pepper spray into the road behind him before dumping the rest of its contents onto the ground.

Throwing her against the wall, the presumed leader wrapped his hand around her throat. "Pretty little _mamacita_ we got here," he said while butchering the word he used to describe her race, scarred lips twisting into a smile. She tried to reach for her wallet and make things easy, ignoring his awful breath while she was at it, but he slammed her hand against her side. Apparently, he didn't intend on robbing her.

Tossed to the ground, Ariel curled into a ball as the five of them began to kick her, a few of them laughing in wicked glee at hearing her pained grunts and whimpers each time they connected. She could feel her strength waning with each new injury that appeared across her body. That's what they were hoping for.

The second the blows stopped, she moved in utter desperation. She didn't know why she did what she did next as it would have no clear benefit. It wasn't a weapon. and even if it were she'd have had no chance of using it effectively in her condition against so many attackers.

And yet the notebook called to her. It was her last lifeline as she plunged deeper and deeper into the ocean, air supply rapidly draining. So confused by her crawl towards something so mundane were her assailants that she actually managed to make it between two of them, grabbing the notebook and a nearby pen and opening it to a random interior page.

What good would this do without a name, though? That's what the book said; you need a name and a face for it to work. It seemed like even her lifeline was about to snap and drop her into the abyss, all hope seeming to disappear in that single moment.

Except, she did have a name, didn't she? Those scars. It was too coincidental, and yet there he was. It was him, right? From the diner. It was dark and she confused, but who else would have such distinctive markings? The name, though. T...something. What was the name? She knew it. She knew she knew it. She couldn't be forgetting now of all times. T...T...T...T…

The man snatched the notebook from her hands, turning it around to see what she'd been so desperate to write. He paused for only a moment before letting out an uproarious cackle. "Hey, look at this," he said to his companions, lifting it up to show the name "Theodore Wilson" written in the center of the page. "Think she wanted an autograph?" he mused, kicking Ariel directly in the face as he did.

"Here, sign her book for her," he said with a chuckle, tossing the notebook to one of his friends who went to grab the pen. At this point, they were so assured of themselves that even writing down their names didn't seem to phase them. What would a random list of names accomplish, anyway?

Wilson got behind her, ripping off her coat and grabbing at the waistband of her pants. Ariel screamed for help, desperate for someone to hear her. She begged to a god she'd long since stopped believing in that someone – anyone in this city of millions – would come to her rescue. But no one came.

All seemed lost right up to the moment Wilson's laughter abruptly stopped. She could hear him step back, sputtering and coughing. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him grabbing and pounding at his chest, struggling for breath as his life slowly and painfully left him.

Moments later and his body hit the ground. He was dead. Several more seconds passed, Wilson's accomplices looking to his corpse and then to each other before finally settling on Ariel. She'd done something, they concluded, but they'd have no time to find out what.

One after the other, each of the remaining four began to feel their chests tighten. One after the other, they fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. This left Ariel among the bodies, too stunned, confused, and frightened to move for the next several minutes. She barely registered the crunch her pepper spray made as one of several cars drove by, no one noticing the veritable massacre that had taken place in this alley.

In a daze, she collected her things off the ground and placed them back into her bag. Damaged as it was, she put her coat back on, as well, wiping the blood gushing from her nose on the sleeve. Lastly, she picked up the notebook, shoving it down into her bag before heading for home.

The rest of the walk was uneventful, though even if there had been something of interest happening it was unlikely she would have noticed. The more time that passed since what happened, the more she began to realize that she'd killed them. One of them, at least.

Ariel had gone through life never wanting to harm anyone. Whether it was her low self-esteem or overall gentle nature at work, she'd always been overly concerned with placating others and minimizing herself. She'd never so much as fought back against a school bully. But now she'd killed a man.

How was this even possible? That notebook was just a notebook. It couldn't really hurt anyone. Yet there it was with each of their names written boldly inside it, bodies laying in that alley as proof of what happened. The only other possibility was that this was all some sick dream, but the throbbing pain all across her body made that hard to buy.

She stumbled into the apartment, trying and failing to hang her coat on the hook and watching it hit the floor. As soon as it did, the screaming started. "What do you think you're doing coming home this late?" her mother shouted, followed by her usual coughing. "You want me to die of worry before the cancer?"

Ariel didn't have the strength to deal with that right now, dragging her feet into the kitchen and washing her face of blood. Her lack of response only served to make her mother more angry, though, the sound of her cane slamming against the concrete underneath the thin layer of carpet approaching rapidly. "Did you hear me?" she questioned, making it clear that there was no right answer to that.

Her tune changed just a bit after Ariel turned around, face and exposed arms black and blue, red staining her shirt, and expression as vacant as could be. "Did you fall down some stairs?" her mother asked, still somewhat harsh but with the barest hint of compassion in her voice.

Lips moved but no sound came out. How could she explain what happened there? She was nearly gang raped in an alley but a magic notebook saved her life? That she'd inadvertently murdered five people in the process? Not even so much inadvertently, either; she was slowly coming to realize that she'd have done the same to all of them if she only knew their names.

"Some men..." she finally mumbled.

"Speak up," her mother snapped. "I taught you to speak clearly." Maybe the compassion she'd sensed before was just her imagination.

"I got attacked," she said. "Some men. Coming home." She placed both her hands on either side of the sink to keep herself upright, nose beginning to bleed once more. Something felt broken in there, she noted, realizing she'd have to set it before going to bed. Somehow her mind was already processing through all this as a list of tasks to complete.

"Oh," her mother said, hand gripping her cane a bit more tightly. "Alright, then." Seemingly done with this conversation, she hobbled to the fridge and retrieved the pitcher of tea, scowling at having just the smallest amount left at the bottom. "You should have made more before you left."

"That's all you have to say?" Ariel asked, senses finally catching up to her in the present.

"What do you want me to say?" she shot back indignantly. "It's not my fault you weren't more careful."

She shouldn't be surprised at this response. It wasn't out of character for her mother to blame her for whatever ills befell her. But even now? She was really doing this now? Was there truly no amount of love at all inside her?

"Maybe this is just God punishing you," she added, doing the obviously painstaking task of making a new batch of tea. "He probably sent those boys to fix you. Suffer now so you don't suffer for eternity. Maybe He finally saw fit to force you to stop acting like a dyke." She paused a moment, adding under her breath, "Never stopped punishing me for having you, though."

Finally, she'd reached her breaking point. She couldn't take this anymore. She didn't deserve this hardship. For far too long, she allowed everyone she knew to walk all over her and use her for their own benefit. Now, no more. Things were going to change. She would make them change by any means necessary.

Before, she'd have been powerless to make any kind of promises like these. But things had changed now. She wasn't powerless any longer.

Now she had the notebook.

* * *

So I was recently thinking about the Netflix movie instead of forgetting it ever existed like a normal person and I got hung up on just how bad and wrongheaded the approach to it was. There's a genuine story to tell about an American version of Death Note, but just making everyone white and tossing out any sense of nuance to make extra room for teen drama is not how you do it.

I figured that, if they couldn't get their shit together, maybe I'd just be the one to tell that story. That being said, it's a fairly different story than the one that most people would expect. It's not a transplant of how Light's particular brand of privilege and his position within society made him essentially go on a prolonged school shooting, but maybe the opposite.

We're going to be following someone who's had a terrible life up to this point, a fundamentally good person driven to use the Death Note and what they'd be using it for. In typical Death Note fashion, that's going to involve a lot of violence, uncomfortable subject matter, and all the subtlety of a Nicolas Cage action movie.

Not going to let the setting go to waste, either. While the original series is more concerned with broad strokes moral questions about good or evil, what I'm hoping to do is examine what good and evil actually mean anymore in a world that's essentially our own. That kind of thing gets thrown around a lot by people who want an excuse to write a reprehensible character that we're supposed to still root for because they're, like, sad and junk, but I'm going to be tackling it in earnest. Trying to, at least.

I've got a lot of ideas on how this is going to play out but no clear ending in mind as I start this. Guess we'll see where things go. Thanks for reading. Share if you're enjoying. Always remember to have a pen handy.


	2. Ascended

_Ariel's must deal with the consequences to her decisions._

* * *

The following morning, Ariel began her life as a new person. Despite having slept little more than an hour the entire night, tossing and turning as her mind replayed her mother's gasping last breaths from the other room, she felt more refreshed and energized than she had in quite some time.

The first thing she did was call the police. Her mother had had a heart attack in the middle of the night while she was asleep, she said. She found her dead in her favorite chair just minutes earlier. Given her poor health, this didn't come as a surprise to anyone, a few neighbors giving helpful if annoyed corroboration to the fact Ariel had always done her best to care for her as a means of ruling out any foul play.

The police seemed fairly satisfied with all of this, following the standard procedure of finding a body with no prior will or DNR plans. She watched through the window as the body was taken away, feeling herself unclench for what may have been the first time in her life. It was like the pair of concrete shoes weighing her down for so long finally broke, her entire being feeling so much lighter. So much safer, too.

As the ambulance disappeared down the street, Ariel breathed deeply. The air inside was still fairly unpleasant, but it too felt somehow lighter. Prowling around the house, her instinct was still to expect that she'd be yelled at at any second. She never was, though. She was finally alone.

Though there would certainly be a lot to take care of in the next several days – plenty of paperwork and costs and other problems – this didn't stop her from enjoying the fact she could lay down in her own bed and rest without disruption now. Setting her phone's alarm, she quickly fell back to sleep and rested until it was time to go to work.

When it woke her, she put on her horrid uniform and prepared to leave. Digging through to the back of her closet, she grabbed a long white coat with shiny black buttons to wear out in the cold. She didn't remember where it came from but assumed it was a secondhand store like usual. As far as she knew, she'd only worn it maybe once or twice, thinking it a bit too flashy and not as comfortable as her favorite blue one. She didn't really have any choice in the matter now, though.

Regardless, it fit well and the slightly scratchy material was of minimal concern next to frostbite or hypothermia. She headed down the street to work, realizing she hadn't eaten at all since the night before. She tried her best to pick something up on the way there but was forced to abandon a hot dog cart given the long line.

Making it just in time to clock in, she stowed her bag and coat and prepared for another awful day. It was almost funny how mundane everything felt after such a monumental change in her life. Maybe she was just numb to it for right now.

To her surprise, the day went by fairly uneventfully. It was almost pleasant. Her boss seemed too concerned to her harass her or anyone else, whispering with his friends about something or other. From the few words she was able to overhear passing through, it seemed like Wilson's death had them all pretty freaked out. She couldn't say she was very sympathetic.

She'd skipped lunch during her break, not really finding anything to be appetizing anymore despite how hungry she felt. Instead, she simply took a short walk around the block, sorting out her thoughts on her mother, what she'd done, the notebook, and what this meant for the world. How did all of this happen? The Death Note just fell from the sky as far as she could tell, but where did it come from originally? Who could have such unbelievable authority over life and death?

She completed the rest of her shift without much of an issue, collecting her things and heading home. Thankfully, she didn't have to go to the gym that day, meaning she could spend the rest of the day at home taking care of whatever was needed of her in the wake of the death. Just as well, she likely didn't have the courage to walk home in the dark by herself anymore.

Finally, she was able to make it back. Hanging her coat, her legs gave out. Ariel crumpled into a ball next to the door, breaking down into a sobbing mess as the guilt, anguish, stress, and all the other emotions swirling inside her over the last day finally forced their way out.

She was a killer. She killed people. First in self-defense, but then in selfishness. Her sick mother – the woman who raised her from birth even though she was such a disappointing failure – was dead because of her. How could she go on living after something so awful?

She should write her own name in that book and burn it at the same time. That's what she had to do. That was the only way to repent for what she'd done. She couldn't just keep going like nothing had happened. She was a murderer. Murderers need to be punished.

But then she stopped. Her feelings remained, but the tears ceased suddenly as she began to think over what had happened. Murder was wrong, yes, but who had she actually killed? Some deadbeat rapist who assaulted her in alley? The terrible mother that did nothing but hurt her and everyone else she'd ever come in contact with?

No, she was just rationalizing now. As bad as these people were, she had no right to judge them like some kind of executioner. Only God could do that. Not that she believed in God, right? Of course not, she lost her faith years ago.

Then would it really matter if she judged them? God judges the wicked, but in a world without God, why couldn't a normal person be the judge? Furthermore, in a world that so often allows the wicked to flourish, what kind of judgment would that God even set down?

God or no God, though, she couldn't just go around killing people. Regardless of any artificial morals set down by old books, she believed strongly that murder was wrong. Killing others no matter how evil they may be would only make you as bad as they were.

But still...was that really what she thought? The first time was a desperate panic, nearly an accident. The second, though, was planned. She knew what would happen when her mother's name was scribbled onto the page. She wanted it to happen. If she truly thought that killing was wrong, why did she do it?

She kept returning to questions like that. Why did she do it? How was any of this possible? Where did this notebook even come from? None of them had an answer, or at least no answer she could bring herself to admit.

Still slumped against the door, Ariel finally picked herself up off the ground and walked to her room. Tossing her bag to the ground, she went to her closet. An accident many years ago had punched a hole in the cheap wooden ceiling of it, revealing a small space in between the top of the closet and the underside of the apartment floor above. With a bit of stressing, it had been broken further to make a good hiding place for the Death Note.

Retrieving the notebook, she laid down on her bed and opened it, flipping through the pages. All the names were still there, their owners still dead. There was no running away, no denying it, and no going back; they were all dead because of her.

That's right, though. There _was_ no going back. Regardless of what she did now – whether she stopped writing in the notebook, tore it up, killed herself, or pretended she never found it in the first place – those six people would remain dead. The world was forever changed because of her actions.

She'd opened the Pandora's box (or jar as she liked to correct people) and let whatever evil this book represented out into the world. It was now possible for a person to kill anyone in the world with just a name and a face.

How horribly that could have gone if the notebook fell into the wrong hands. Not that there really were any right hands for such a terrifying weapon, but better her than some maniac killer or greedy businessman, she thought. At least she had something resembling a conscience.

Thinking about it like that, it was almost good that she was the one to get the Death Note. Good for the world, even. Someone with even slightly less self-control would be using it left and right for any reason right now. They probably wouldn't even be having this kind of conflict, either.

Yes, it was good that she had it. She could dispose of it responsibly. She'd accept what she'd done and carry that weight wherever it took her, be it into the future or into the ground. The bottom line was that no one else would die because of it. Because of her.

She was fully prepared to execute this plan with a lighter in the next few minutes, but another thought gave her pause. That being: What if it couldn't be destroyed? It seemed easy enough to break apart, especially when she gave one of the pages a stress test and saw it begin to rip from the binding. That being said, though, what guarantee was there that it wouldn't just come back?

She'd seen enough horror movies to know how that went down. Someone gets a cursed item, destroys it beyond recognition, but the moment they turn their back it's right there again. Of course, she was completely speculating at this point. There was no guarantee this would happen...but there was also no guarantee it wouldn't. Even worse, what if it returned somewhere else in front of someone else?

Everything about the Death Note was uncharted territory. The most she knew for sure was that it worked as stated in the rules, but literally anything else was possible after that. There were far too many unknowns to start acting recklessly. For right now, it was safest just to store it away where no one could ever find it.

And even though she said that, the Death Note still somehow found its way into her bag once again after she was called to the hospital to sign off on some forms. It was where the paramedics took her mother's body after they left the apartment, keeping her in the morgue until things were sorted out and plans could be made.

It was a short process if an unpleasant and stressful one. Mostly, it was concerned with signing off on the facts she'd given them, arranging for the body to be moved to a crematorium, and things like that. Tedious as could be but they were at least sympathetic enough and understood this was all thoroughly overwhelming and confusing to deal with alone, even offering to treat her for the very obvious fresh wounds across her face and arms. She declined, of course, considering she didn't have money to pay for anything like that.

When all of that was done, she headed out of the drab office she'd been sitting in for the last half hour to go get a drink at a nearby fountain. At the very least, all this boring paperwork had helped to take her mind off the business with the notebook. Ironic considering why she was doing it in the first place.

This reprieve didn't last too long. Gears began to turn the moment she overheard a conversation a short ways down the hall. "I just don't want her to suffer," a blonde woman said, eyes puffy from crying. "It's...what's the point of forcing her to stay alive like this? They said she won't wake up."

"I know," a dark haired man said, holding her close and stroking the back of her head. He was trying his hardest to stay calm but his disheveled appearance indicated that he wasn't doing much better. "I know. But...we can't pull the plug. You know we can't. She didn't want that."

"But don't you think she'd change her mind?" the woman shot back. "Hooked up to a bunch of machines, probably can't see or hear or smell or anything...how is that living? And with the bills, it's..." She looked to be on the verge of tears once more.

The man ushered her off down the hall, mentioning something about getting some air. Even without knowing anything more of their story, Ariel could tell how much hurt they were dealing with. It made her wish there was something she could do for them despite how little she had to offer.

This may have been why she found herself creeping into the sterile-smelling hospital room they'd just left. Inside was an elderly woman in a white sleeping gown, various tubes and wires and lines connected into her and running from machine to machine, all of them beeping and whirring and flashing colors in ways she couldn't hope to understand. All it really told her was that this person was in bad shape.

She wasn't really about to do this, was she? After everything she'd just agonized over before, was she really going to use the notebook again? It was a supremely bad idea no matter how you looked at it, the least of which was her butting into these people's business without even being asked.

And all of that was true, but thinking back to those distraught faces and looking in front of her at this clearly suffering person meant none of it mattered. She couldn't let them continue on like this the way she had. All they were doing was prolonging the inevitable and destroying themselves in the process. At least this way they could be released from it all and move on.

She barely had time to finish writing the name she saw listed on the charts before the realization hit her. "An end to suffering." It was so simple but she couldn't find a way to argue against it. Death didn't need to be an awful experience, especially for those hurting. It could simply be an end to their troubles on this planet, finally allowed to go with dignity in their time of need rather than suffer in squalor and pain.

Her mother was a truly reprehensible person, a fact no one could really deny, but wasn't this also the case for her? They were both well aware that she was going to die from her disease. The medicine was just a means of prolonging whatever time she had left. Regardless of the malice she may have felt in those moments, didn't she ultimately help her mother pass on and spare her the suffering she'd have endured for the years ahead?

Was she just trying to rationalize it all again? Maybe so, but the deed was done. Like she'd said before, there was no going back now. She was a killer whether she liked it or not, but if she was to be a killer for the rest of her life, maybe she could at least do some good in the process.

Before, she killed out of selfishness. Now, however, she realized what she had to do. From this point forward, she would kill to relieve the suffering of others. Maybe this was the true purpose of the notebook all along, though she was somewhat doubtful of that fact.

As she left the room, she decided to try something the rules had spelled out before. Next to the woman's name, she wrote that she would die peacefully and painlessly. From an outsider's perspective, there probably wasn't much to indicate whether or not it had worked, but she wanted to believe that she'd be able to make this person's death as quick and devoid of suffering as possible.

Her hands were shaking as she left the hospital, walking back to her apartment with the Death Note concealed within her bag. This was the third murder she'd committed and it didn't seem like it would be the last. The thought terrified her, both the act itself and the specter of what she might one day become, but she pressed onward.

There was no going back. She'd killed before. Rather than kill herself and allow the notebook to fall into worse hands, though, she would continue to use it and atone for her crimes by helping those who needed it. She wouldn't use it for her own gains or her own ideals any longer, only to relieve others of their suffering.

She swore this to herself as she proceeded down the street, a new dark determination glowing in her eyes. In this way, she'd barely be different from a doctor performing assisted suicide. The only difference here was that she wasn't bound by the law, giving people the relief they craved even when it wasn't possible for them otherwise.

The more she thought on it, the more she liked the way this sounded. Not "liked" exactly; it was more like it became more palatable. Slowly but surely, she was convincing herself that this was the safest route. The most moral route, even. She was stuck with this thing that was too dangerous to try and dispose of, so using it like this was her best option.

There was no going back.

* * *

Ariel's having a rough time dealing with the choices she's making. All that flip flopping and rationalization takes its toll, especially when you still haven't eaten in almost 20 hours. Kind of comes with the territory when you've had the Christian martyr complex beaten into you since you were a baby, though.

Seems kind of dangerous to keep carrying the notebook around like that after she already had her bag ripped away from her so easily. Maybe she'll fix that in the future.

Already digging into some pretty heavy questions now that assisted suicide has come up. Her goal almost seems noble when she thinks of it like that, but is it? It could just be a pretense to keep using the notebook without feeling the guilt. Personally, I don't think right and wrong should play much of a role in this, so I'll leave it to you to decide on your own.

That's about all we've got for now. As you can tell, there's no real schedule on this. When it's done, it's done. Thanks for reading. Share if you're enjoying. Always remember to eat regularly to keep yourself healthy.


	3. Paradise

_Ariel meets a friend from her past._

* * *

Three days had passed since Ariel found the Death Note. Since hadn't used since that time at the hospital, finding it harder than expected to find people who might be willing to die to escape suffering. It wasn't as if she'd given up, however, as she'd already struck upon a new idea just a day after her last kill.

She initially thought of it while sorting through her mother's things to find anything worth selling, donating, or throwing out. The gaudy picture of Maria hung up on her wall above some candles was, for possibly the first time in years, somewhat inspiring to her. She wasn't exactly conceited enough to compare herself to a religious figure like that, but the idea of being a nurturing mother to those suffering at the end of their lives was appealing.

This was what led her to look for jobs at nursing homes and care facilities in the area. To her surprise, she actually found a few that were hiring, submitting a resume to one a ways off from her home that needed a new cook. If all went well, she might even be able to quit her job at the diner, too.

As a halfway competent chef, she'd be in the position of both helping feed others while also finding those who may be in need of another kind of help. Morbid as it may be, it wasn't like she didn't know about the high suicide rates among those in nursing homes, primarily as a result of isolation, illness, and a general hopelessness many feel after being shunted off there by the people who were supposed to love and care for them.

In truth, she hoped that she wouldn't need to use the notebook at all. While probably a bit optimistic, her intention would be to try and get to know the people there and find those who seemed to be suffering and in pain. If there was nothing she could possibly do to help them, she'd end their suffering. At least that way they could die with some dignity.

None of this was her priority for today, though. Today, dressed in probably the cutest outfit she'd ever owned – a soft pink dress with a short denim jacket just to stay on brand – she made her way down to a local cafe to meet up with someone she hadn't seen in quite some time.

The chiming of the bell above the door ushered her inside this familiar place. Several of the quaint little tables and booths along the side were filled with college students and similar patrons chatting or typing on computers just like always. Like most shops of this nature, the aroma of coffee hung in the air though in a far more authentic way than one of the chains. Maybe it was her imagination, though, and there wasn't really any difference from what one place or the other did to make their coffee.

She approached the counter, ordering a simple black coffee and admiring the creamy brown color of the floor tiles while imagining the sound they'd make if she wore some kind of heeled shoe. Everything about this place was extremely pleasant, bringing back many fond memories of college and days gone by. Appropriate given who she was here to meet.

Ariel took a seat at one of the booths near the counter, getting her order in a dainty porcelain cup from a friendly waitress who seemed to remember her from back in the day. They didn't really have any time to chat but exchanged a few pleasantries before she walked away. Being remembered was a surprisingly nice feeling.

Though a black coffee was all she could afford to buy in good conscience, it was still delicious. The beans hadn't been burned so nothing was too bitter and it was brewed by someone who knew what they were doing, the fruitiness and acidity coming through fully in each sip. It had been so long since she'd had good coffee that it almost brought a tear to her eye.

Coffee wasn't why she was here, though, her reason walking through the door in that moment. She was just as strikingly beautiful as Ariel remembered, forcing her to fight the urge to run up and greet her the second that bell chimed. She'd play it cool, though, waving her over to the booth and trying not to look too terribly excited or overjoyed at their reunion.

Her name was Zora Black, friend since middle school and, for a brief and wonderful moment in college, beloved partner. Though Ariel's mother had found and ruined their relationship, both had always wanted an excuse to see each other again for some time. A death in the family, funnily enough, was the perfect time for that.

She sat down, smoothing out the sleeveless white dress she'd worn for the occasion and tossing a light black jacket to the side next to an orange leather purse. It was one Ariel could remember from before, the one with all the swooping marks across it that made it look like a rainbow of watercolor paints were used to create it. She always loved the way it looked, especially when it was juxtaposed against Zora's usual black boots.

"Hi," Ariel said, sounding a bit more sheepish than intended. With everything that had happened the last few days you'd think she'd have developed a slightly stronger constitution, but she was still as weak as always when it came to her. One look at those dark curls spilling out of the top of the white scarf binding up her hair or the tiny crinkles next to her eyes when she smiled or the poise and confidence she exuded in every moment and it was game over.

"It's been too long," Zora replied, pushing up a pair of thin rainbow framed glasses along the bridge of her nose. "I hope you weren't too busy."

"Not at all," she said quickly. "I don't have work until later. You picked the perfect time."

She nodded. "That's good to hear. Are you doing okay?" She was referring to her mother's death, obviously.

"I think so," Ariel told her. "It's honestly been...okay. I guess I was kind of prepared for this to happen one day."

"I'm still sorry it did," she said, placing a hand over top Ariel's and stroking it with her thumb. "You know I'm always here if you need me. I wanted to come see you today just so you'd know that."

"I know," she murmured, eyes turning away as her cheeks started to flush. It was embarrassing to be such a desperate mess like this but there wasn't much she could do after the hand thing. Whenever Zora did that to her, she'd always melt into a quivering pile of mush. It was too powerful.

Apparently, Zora had already picked up on all this and wanted to be a tease. With a smile, she leaned in a bit, suggesting, "You know, if you've ever got the time, you could always come over to my place and play some video games like we used to."

Ariel remembered when they used to do that, though she couldn't really recall them playing that many games. Outside of the occasional hyper-competitive circuit in Mario Kart, they'd usually spend their time alone in Zora's room doing other activities.

Clearing her throat, Ariel nodded slowly. "Yeah, that...that might be nice. But..." She pursed her lips, reality rearing its ugly head once more. "I'm kind of busy for right now. Trying to find a new job and getting everything sorted out after...that."

"No, I get it," she said, patting her hand gently before withdrawing her own. "Are you still working at that shitty diner?"

"Yeah," she sighed.

"With the gropey boss that you won't let me break in half?"

"Yeah," she repeated, stifling a laugh. "I figured it was finally time to get out of there."

"Why'd it take so long?" she asked. "The food's awful, the boss sucks, and you weren't getting paid hardly anything."

Ariel ran her hands through her hair. "You know how it is. Couldn't travel too far from home in case mother needed me. And taking on the second job at night meant I felt like dying whenever I wasn't at work, so all my job searching time was just sleeping time." She paused. "I guess now...things changed."

It was clear she had more to say, Zora waiting patiently for her to speak. "It's...this all feels weird. I'm supposed to be sad about it, but...it's...I'm not. I mean, I am, but...I'm more relieved."

"Everyone grieves in their own way," she reassured her. "Sometimes it is a relief. She was sick, you were trapped...it's not wrong to feel like you do." She tried to hide the fact she bit on the corner of her lip after saying that.

"What?" Ariel asked. She'd noted that as one of Zora's tells since they were children, usually meaning she was uncomfortable with something.

"It's nothing," she deflected.

"Tell me," Ariel pressed, leaning forward intently.

Though reluctant, she finally added, "You know how I felt about her. I'm just...almost glad it happened...just so she can't hurt you anymore." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. That's not okay."

"I can't say you're wrong," Ariel admitted. It's not like she was oblivious to her own mistreatment. Clearly not given the truth of the matter. Hearing someone else say it so plainly certainly felt a bit odd, though. Still, it was somewhat affirming.

Reaching her foot across towards her, Ariel tapped the toe of Zora's boot with her sneaker. "I guess one good thing about all of this is that you're not banned from my house anymore."

The mood brightened considerably at that. "Then expect to see a lot more of me," Zora told her, turning Ariel's cup around and taking it to drink the remaining coffee.

"I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "I should have gotten you something to drink sooner. I'm sorry. I can go order something now."

"It's fine," she reassured her, placing the cup back on its saucer and patting Ariel's hand. "What are you apologizing for after I just drank all your drink, anyway? You should be making me buy you something."

"It's my fault for not getting you anything to begin with," she said, this whole exchange forcing her to remember back to all the times they'd had this kind of argument before. One would want to do something for the other, she'd argue back and say it wasn't necessary, then they'd go back and forth like that until Zora picked her up and kissed her. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't secretly hoping that would happen now.

In the end, something almost as good happened. Zora reached across the table, taking Ariel's chin in her hand and saying, "I am going to go get us both something to drink and you are not going to argue with me." She used the index finger on her other hand to tap her on the nose before getting up, ordering two more cups of black coffee for the two of them before returning to her seat.

That was just barely enough time for her brain to reboot, that last stunt almost knocking her out entirely. If she wasn't more careful, Zora might prove to be even more dangerous than the Death Note. Ariel cleared her throat to try and get herself back to thinking. "All we've been talking about so far is me. How have you been? Are you still at the same place?"

"Same startup, yeah," she said. "Still trying to start up."

"Is it that bad?" she asked.

Zora looked as if she'd been waiting to bash her job for years, all of her complaints flying out as soon as Ariel had finished asking her question. "Oh, you wouldn't believe it. The whole place is disorganized as hell and no one ever knows what we're doing until we get there for the day. They changed the whole point of the app twice – twice! – and we're just supposed to throw out basically everything we did before then. And the whole office is so damn dirty because they won't hire a cleaning guy or anything."

She smacked her hand on the table after that, briefly stopping to thank the waitress who brought them their drinks before continuing, "And you won't believe what my greasy boss did. I swear, he actually tried to get me to go to dinner with him a couple weeks ago. Dude thinks because he's got a rich daddy I should be all over him."

"You didn't go, right?" she asked, almost worried.

"Hell no," she said, taking a big drink of her coffee. "I've got better things to do than all that nonsense. Like you. Coming to see you, I mean." She recovered from that slip up remarkably well.

"It sounds awful there," Ariel told her, obviously sympathetic to something like that.

"Yeah, but it pays good. Maybe we'll even release a product one day." Her sarcasm at the end was biting. "I think the worst part is the fact everyone's always acting all cagey around me since they've never seen a Black girl in tech before. It's been two years and they still can't get over it."

"I wish you could find a different place to work," she said.

"Maybe one day we'll make a company like we always talked about," she joked. "No clue what we'd sell, but I bet we could make it work."

"Mail order rental socks," Ariel suggested in deadpan, breaking the moment Zora started laughing. "Let's do it. People would be into it."

She waved her off, getting her laughter under control. "You're crazy," she said with a shake of her head. Her phone began to buzz inside her purse. Zora pulled it out, clicking her tongue at the message on the scream. "Sorry, I have to go," she told Ariel. "One of those dumb bastards broke the source code and they need my help fixing it."

"Oh, that sounds bad," she said. "Good luck. I hope it's not too damaged."

"You know how good I am," she replied with a smile. "I'll have it finished by the end of the day. Mind if I call you later?"

"Of course not," she said. "My shift doesn't start until 9:00, so anytime before then is fine."

Zora nodded, standing up and pulling on her jacket. Before she left, she briefly took Ariel's hand. "It was really nice to see you again. I missed you." She squeezed it before letting go, waving as she headed to the door.

Ariel felt like she was walking on clouds the entire trip home. Even just the brief time they spent together left her overjoyed and filled with hope, something she hadn't experienced in such a long time. A new chapter in her life was beginning and, judging by this, it was going to be a good one.

While there was still a lot of bad and a lot of confusion, she chose not to think about it for the time being. Right now, she'd just enjoy what she had and look towards the future. Hopefully, this future included Zora like she'd always dreamed.

Entering the apartment, she hung her jacket on the hook and headed for her room, thinking about how best to spend her time before work. She hadn't really had free time before given that any moment of her life prior was a constant struggle of slinking around trying to remain small and unseen for fear of catching her mother's wrath. Now, though, she was completely free, alone to be herself.

"I was getting tired of waiting for you," a gruff, low voice spoke as she opened her bedroom door. "The book is here so I thought you would be, too."

Things just became significantly more complicated.

* * *

Things are looking up for Ariel. Got some nice coffee, might get a new job, and her ex is asking to hook up again the first time they see each other again after years. Things are almost good enough to forget this isn't a goofy romantic comedy and the future will certainly not be good in the end.

I really agonized over the clothes here. It took me a while to plan everyone's outfits, especially debating whether or not they'd both be willing to have cold legs for the sake of looking cute to each other. They're both lesbians so that answer is, without a doubt, absolutely yes.

Got another new cast member coming in the next chapter who revealed himself at the end of this. Wonder how that's going to change things. Guess we'll find out whenever that comes.

Probably the last rapid update on this. I've got other things to do and can't just be writing this exclusively. I doubt the wait will be too long, but don't expect it in the next couple days like has been happening.

Thanks for reading. Share if you're enjoying. Always remember hold your lover's face lovingly in your hand in a show of both support and dominance because that's pretty hot, not going to lie.


End file.
